


outset: regards to you

by rosemaryblues



Series: I cannot hold back your tide of bad decisions [1]
Category: Borderlands
Genre: Dysphoria, F/M, M/M, Transphobia, also rhys is a really privileged butthead at the start of this but he mellows up i swear, and yvette is aroace as heck, autistic rhys, college days, disabled rhys comes later on, fatphobia, gayperion, rhys and vaughn are both 18-19 when this starts!!, rhys is rly pan, slowburn, trans boy rhys, vaughn is chubby!! and rhys is an ass about it at first, vaughn is gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 07:39:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8277998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosemaryblues/pseuds/rosemaryblues
Summary: Rhys cannot handle change, no matter how much he prepares himself for it. How is he supposed to be, torn between (what the professionals like to call) 'a business act', or a chance to be himself?That surely can't be cool, now, can it?But he's finding he kind of likes this Vaughn guy...---If only he knew, just how wonderful he always found him to be.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Rhys is getting ready for a big change; college is starting tomorrow and he wants one last piece of this town before he goes away.  
> Cue Vaughn, some nerd who doesn't know his place, and somebody who shouldn't affect him as much as he did.
> 
> Content warning: misgendering/sort of deadnaming, emetophobia/vomiting towards the end, some fatphobic remarks in Rhys' internal dialogue

Rhys

There could be no coincidences, Rhys knew, for them to become as tangled as they were. Clichés were something of a foreign concept to the man, and whether he could have depended on the way his heart skipped into his throat, the way his breath caught and he felt the world spin whenever he caught his eye was something he couldn't have ever possibly known.

Ambitious he was, forever reaching for something akin to stardom, unaware of the lack of lustre being amongst the stars truly held. All in all, he couldn’t figure out if Vaughn was the one who was pulling him back to the ground.

Vaughn’s face had this unkindly habit of lighting up whenever Rhys was around. His eyes would twinkle, and his lips would perk, and Rhys would feel the hole in his chest reignite, a hole he had dug so deeply just to be as close as he could to the idol he so wrongly revered.

To be like Jack. _To be like Jack._ It’s all he had ever wanted. It was a want that festered into a need, blooming into some sort of fanatical, artificial craving when he had first stepped foot through the halls of Hyperion.

To work from assimilation of the lowest ranks until he could reach the monetary chair, drinking cocktails and ordering 20 dancing strippers on a Wednesday afternoon all because he _wanted to,_ an nding goal that never pressed further than what the average man so simply desired; he couldn't have picked why the tail end of a puppy crush had been left to linger.

Vaughn was not supposed to remain, and his image of love was not supposed to contain the trembling hands he had fallen into.

But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help but to love those eyes, and that smile, and the way Vaughn swayed to him when nothing else could make any sense. And so he would let himself fall, but he had never convinced himself of how contrived, baseless, of how impulsive his decisions could be.

And to fall, what could possibly go wrong?

* * *

 

To recall, the air on that day was particularly stifling.

Rhys had become accustomed to Eden-5’s scorching summers, having been born and raised under the ever-faithful sun. He could have complained that it was some sort of bizarre quirk that the planet itself held, but aside from a far from unsubtly corrupt police force, there wasn’t much else it could hold credit for.

Ever since he could remember, Rhys’ driving force was to be successful. It wasn’t for some unhinged need to make his parents proud, or to prove himself something of worth. It was simple, in the fact that Rhys had wanted a goal, and for his own, and when his tiny seaside town held little to no promises, he could only reach further from what it was.

That's not to say he hated this town, no. Rhys’ fondest memories came from days spent beside the water's edge, where he could follow the lapse and flow of the tide as if it were anything like his own hectic schedules. He had spent more than enough afternoons watching sunsets, ice cream in hand, paperback arithmetics in the other, trying to find some sort of balance between relaxation and perseverance.

It had been a slow and grating practice, to reach a point where he could focus on the words on his page without the whirl of sea air in his ears distracting him from his studies. He had to integrate what might have made someone like him keel from all of the sensory perceptions, as he figured that if he could focus over children’s play screams, the run of waves against the shore, the shrieks of gulls above, then he could remain focused with whatever other planetary inhibitions he could might across.

He thought it peculiar, as he wandered down to the pier that afternoon, how much of a contrast the day held when he was left with nothing but to take in his own surroundings.

It was a Tuesday, the point in the week where everyone was getting over the sheer regret of waking up on a Monday and getting ready to push themselves through the rest of their mundane routines. Rhys expected no less of the clusters of people walking to and from the beach, discerning themselves from the families returning home for an early night to others, often singular parties of young adults, who were looking to find a moment of peace as the cooler evening drew near.

Rhys habitually checked his watchless wrist, so he could avoid eye contact with anyone he might’ve known, relying on the patterns of feet he could see skirting past him to prevent from bumping shoulders. When the wood beneath his feet changed from a mottled brown into a gradient auburn, he craned his neck upwards, following the colour through the double-doored entrance of the ice-cream parlour set in front of him. He pulled to the side, veering out of the way of oncoming customers, and lifted one arm to peer into the store entrance.

The parlour was booming, as what was expected on such a day, and Rhys almost couldn’t see the countertop over the amasse of people waiting to order. The parlour itself served as a makeshift seaside restaurant as well, so he shouldn’t have been surprised by the numbers, but the effort of standing amongst a sweaty hoard just for a cup of ice-cream didn’t sound all that appealing to him.

He began to assess the situation, wondering if he could somehow push his way past without being conspicuous, something he knew he couldn’t achieve because of how tall he was, or if he could signal to one of the cashier’s there to make him an order that was ready-to-go.

“Right, like they’d be attentive enough to remember me, even if I _am_ a regular.” He muttered to himself, mustering a grimace as he settled from his toes and turned slowly from the window. What he did not expect was to suddenly come face-to-face, or rather, chest-to-face, with another young man. He jumped with a start, causing the smaller to pull back also, and he blinked rapidly, eyeing him up and down.

The guy was hunched over, clutching an untouched cup of pink-coloured ice-cream in one hand, and running the other through his auburn hair. His pale green eyes were glued shyly to the floor, and his lips were slightly parted, as if he had something to say but couldn’t spit it out.

Rhys felt his stomach twist in distaste, his eyebrow cocking at the extra load this guy was carrying, and the way his green shirt wasn’t fitted to his stature, with one end hanging loosely out of a belt that was way too small for him.

Rhys judged the shorter as someone who might have been kicked around in high-school, the type that spent his weekends in his mother’s basement playing tabletop games, _alone._ The type that Rhys’ own friend group had intermingled with, but he himself had never become exclusive, and for his own sake had stayed _very far_ away from. The very thought of being seen with someone like him was enough to make him take another step backward, although there wasn’t much ground to cover, as his back hit the window with a soft thud.

The smaller looked up at the movement, his eyebrows cocking in surprise, and Rhys felt his own raise in response. The pair of eyes the guy had on him; they were a soft greenish-gray, with something almost beseeching within them making his chest flush with a sudden refreshing tingle of... _something._

He wrinkled his nose, straightening up, wondering why on earth this guy hadn’t said a single word, when an idea clicked into his mind. He began to fumble in his pocket, yanking out his wallet and snagging a out a ten dollar note.

He waved the money almost tauntingly ( _because what human being wasn’t swayed by cash_ ) and pressed it forward into the smaller man’s hand. The man stiffened almost immediately upon contact, staring down at the money dumbstruck, before he finally uttered the first word between them.

“Um…”

“You look like a hungry fellow. Can you do me a favour? If you go in there and buy me an ice-cream, I’ll let you keep the change for yourself. Fair deal?”

His unwitting victim turned his head slowly to the window, eyes darting from Rhys and to the money, before finally settling on the taller.

“I--Excuse me?”

“It is what it is, no catch.”

“I...I get that.” He spoke, slowly, almost in awe. “I just--Do you do this often?”

“I--wha?”

“You know, give random people money and demand them to do stuff for you?”

Rhys’ eyes widened, and he was taken aback. To be fair, this wasn’t something he was used to, and neither was he prepared for how forward this guy was. He had just presumed that someone like him would have followed orders.

Rhys scratched at his head, before crossing his arms again. “I, well... _No._ I’m not exactly--demanding, I’m just…”

“Still asking a random passerby?”

“Well, _fine then_. What’s your name?”

The smaller’s eyes fell, and Rhys noted how his fingers curled to actually grip the money. The man seemed to leer, before he sucked in a breath and forced himself to look back up.

“It’s Vaughn. ...My name is Vaughn.”

Something in the back of Rhys’ mind stirred, and he felt his heart skip a small beat. There was something about this particular instance, whether it was the way that Vaughn had ended his sentence with a huff, or how Vaughn’s eyes had narrowed in plain sincerity, Rhys couldn’t figure it out.

It was weird. This entire encounter was weird, and Rhys suddenly felt the need to pull back once more. As he was about to say “Forget it” and reach forward for his money, Vaughn suddenly straightened his own cup and pocketed the note, turning towards the door.

“What flavour do you want?”

Rhys blinked rapidly, almost forgetting his words. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and muttered, “Um, mint”, and Vaughn confirmed with a nod, opening and walking through without another word.

Rhys’ attention was definitely garnered, and he turned rather quickly to follow Vaughn’s hunched walk, peering at him through the window. He was oblivious to the patrons sitting in the booth below him, leering up at the tall man as his shadow fell across their table for the second time. When he hadn’t moved for the next five minutes, obviously intently fixated on something, one of the group knocked a fist against the window, signalling him away with a following wave.

Rhys sneered, resisting the urge to flip them off, and he shoved his hands in his pockets, moving from the shade off the rooftop and onto a nearby bench. He sat, trying to ignore the way his binder rubbed uncomfortably against his stomach as he did so.

He feathered out his collar, more than welcoming to the small and fruitless breeze it created. Whilst he didn’t mind the heat, wearing his binder made for a slick walk, and his insecurities heightened at the notion of smelling grossly. He rubbed the collar of his shirt over his nose, taking an inconspicuous whiff, before he rapidly scrambled to reassert himself as he spotted Vaughn walking out the door.

He crossed a leg over his knee as the smaller waddled over, clasping his half melted berry cup in one hand and the mounted mint in the other. Rhys furrowed his brow, ready to unwind his legs and take a walk when Vaughn was to hand him the ice-cream. Instead he was met with a ‘Scootch over’, and Rhys bit back a scowl, shuffling to the side to make room.

_Great. Now he had to socialize._

“Uh, thanks.” He muttered, offering a nod at Vaughn’s kindly smile as the mint cup was handed to him. Vaughn gave him a half-hearted shrug, rifling his spoon through what was more melted then textured, and they began to fall into a sort of stifled silence.

Rhys stared at his ice-cream blankly, before he habitually shoved his plastic spoon straight into the middle and began to swivel it around, digging through the green surface and into its middle. He caved out the sides until it began to look like some sort of perfected hovel, before scooping at the ice-cream innards he had left to the side and pulling them up to eat.

He couldn’t help the way his lips quirked at the ritualistic motion, and of how satisfying the freshness of the mint tasted afterwards, and in his pursuit he failed to notice the smallest of smiles arising on Vaughn’s face as he watched Rhys from the side.

“Do you do that often as well?”

“Huh?” Rhys blinked, the end of his spoon sticking out of his mouth.

“That thing, with your ice-cream.”

Rhys’ eyes averted to the floor, and he slowly pulled his spoon from his mouth, placing it carefully back into the ice-cream hollow. “I--Kinda? It’s just...a thing, I guess? ...Um, question?”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you still here? I mean, you’ve got your change. You can go and get yourself another ice-cream, that, y’know, isn’t melted.”

Vaughn’s face fell with a frown, and he pulled his heels together. Rhys didn’t appreciate the way he took his time with his words, as if his meek indecisiveness was made just to grind his gears.

“That was your cue.”

“I--Sorry.”

Vaughn stood quickly, tapping the ends of his fingers around his ice-cream cup, and he dug into his pocket, fishing out the change and piling coins into Rhys’ lap in one jaunted movement. Rhys jumped with a start, almost dropping his ice-cream, and Vaughn rubbed vigorously at his nose with the bottom of his palm.

“There’s your money.”

“Wha--What for?”

“So I won’t be in your debt, in case you change your mind.”

“Change my--Woah, hold on, buddy. A deal is a dea-” Rhys stood quickly as Vaughn turned on his heel, forgetting a second too late as coins fell from his lap and onto the boardwalk below.

Rhys let out a frustrated sigh as a few fell through the gaps below him, and he knelt down to gather the remaining change. He almost doubled backwards in surprise as Vaughn was suddenly by his side, muttering quiet apologies as he plucked gingerly at the coins, slamming a hand down dangerously close to Rhys’ to catch a wayward note.

The pair collected their money in silence, and as they stood, Rhys thrust the money forward into Vaughn’s chest, causing him to halt with a surprised “Ooph”.

“Just take the damn money.”

“I--I don't want it.”

“Why? Everyone wants money when it's offered.”

“It--” Vaughn blinked gingerly, gently shoving Rhys’ hand aside, “--Depends on the situation. And in this situation, I _don't_ want it.”

“Why don't you want my money?” Rhys could feel his irritation growing. _Why did this guy have to be so difficult?_

Rhys could very well have taken the money back, he knew, and the situation could have been resolved right then and there. Vaughn would have left, and Rhys would have forgotten their encounter within a week at the very most.

But a deal _was_ a deal, and when that was struck, something in Rhys’ mind wouldn't settle unless the terms were concrete.

“Just because. Besides, you're not being very nice about it.”

“What, you want me to say please?”

“Ugh, _forget it._ ” Rhys felt his throat tighten at the tone in Vaughn’s voice, and the smaller took a gradual step backwards, jabbing a finger at the cup Rhys held.

“By the way, your ice-cream has melted.”

Rhys looked downwards, almost letting out an audible gasp at the slowly dissolving mess that was his ice-cream, and as he shot a look upwards to blame the smaller from distracting him from eating, he realised he was suddenly alone.

He looked around wildly, hoping to glimpse the man as he somehow made his elusive getaway, and he clenched his fist tightly, having to hold himself back from throwing the change down onto the ground in temper.

“Why did that just happen?” He muttered angrily under his breath, stabbing his spoon back into his cup, and feeling his stomach clench at how unsatisfying the impact with gloop felt.

He sat down once more, swirling the ice-cream mindlessly around the cup. Through his irritation, something nudged in the back of his mind, working him to try and make sense of the almost _familiar_ way that Vaughn had acted around him. Whether he was misreading things or getting interpretations wrong, all he knew was that it wasn’t something worth worrying about.

\---

Rhys found he couldn’t sleep that night. His brain felt frazzled, his body restless, relentlessly pressuring him to shake out unfathomable prickles in his legs and tightening in his knuckles. He tossed and turned, uncovering his chest, pushing blankets onto the floor, sliding off to eventually meet them. He could have blamed the heat, had it not been for the accommodating AC running on full blast throughout the house, and he felt nothing but irritation that his body wouldn’t comply with the urgency his mind pressed.

 _Tomorrow is a big day._ He kept telling himself, but it somehow made the aches within his body flare up even more, until he was pacing about his room, double checking boxes, making sure everything was stacked in an easy moving order, flipping his key pass over and over in his hands just to assure himself that it had remained where he had placed it on his desk a few hours before.

Rhys’ eyes shifted over to where the leftover change had been neatly stacked beside his monitor, and he felt his stomach turn queasy at the sight. His mind was already reeling from the backlash of not being able to complete the deal, and how humiliated he had felt in the presence of that Vaughn guy, but he found that something else just didn’t sit completely right with his thoughts.

Vaughn had been on his mind all throughout the evening, his face chipping away at all the other responsibilities Rhys should have been facing instead. Rhys lingered on small details, such as the way he was so defiant, where he had shoved away Rhys’ hand as if were nothing more than some annoying bug, to how he had pushed himself to run when the taller had taken pursuit.

Well, _sure,_ Rhys might have been a little too pushy, but it was Vaughn’s fault for not falling in line with the role he was clearly presented with.

What he could not comprehend, however, was the twinkle of _nostalgia_ that sat on the very edge of his brain, that pushed him to flip the situation over and over so he could figure out exactly why he was so very irritated in the first place.

It was all Vaughn’s fault for not knowing better, and for shoving Rhys’ expectations aside, and Rhys wanted to convince himself that his annoyance was linked entirely to that. But then again, if that were the case, would that prove that Rhys’ intolerance for insubordination was so unbearable that it had caused him to lose the precious sleep he needed?

“As if he could ever mean that much.” Rhys muttered to himself as he hugged a nearby Kaiju plush to his chest. Plucking gently at the spines aligning the back, he rolled back and forth, feeling the annoyance shift onto himself at such a comment.

“What are you even _talking_ about Rhys? Why are you so worked up over him anyway?” He sat up, rolling the tiny, reptilian-like hands back and forth on the plush. “He’s just some...stupid, fat loser. ...Who wouldn’t take my money.”

Rhys’ face fell, and he curled onto his stomach, lifting his legs in the air and trying to peer at the plush through the darkness.

The snarling, double-mouthed face he had familiarised himself with offered little comfort, and he lifted his hand to jab down it’s throat, fiddling with it rather violently. “Pshh...roar...oh, no...down it goes...ahhhh...Rhys saves the day again…” He threw it upwards in the air, muttering a tiny “Oh shit” when it fell through the darkness and out of his reach.

He grumbled as he rolled back onto his feet and fumbled through the darkness, switching on the bedroom light with a flick of his wrist. The room erupted with orange light, and he blinked blearily, rubbing his nose with his palm as he bent forward and retrieved the plush from behind a stack of boxes.

Holding the plush close to his chest, his eyes drifted about his room, where his walls had been stripped of posters, his shelves cleaned of figurines and comic books, his blanket missing its signature variety of intergalactic space heroes cover. It felt more than just empty; it felt somehow devoid of life, of the devotion Rhys had put into his collection, and how degrading it must have felt to have been shoved into a box labelled ‘basement’, if there was consideration that his merchandise somehow had feelings anyway.

Rhys tenderly stroked alongside the edge of one of the boxes, feeling his stomach drop a notch at the notion of going to college with less than half of his things. Rhys had surrounded himself with said paraphernalia as an easing comfort throughout his high-school years. It was always easier to relate to those comic-book archetypes, to characters and celebrities who were living life in ways far more grandiose than he could ever imagine; but for what his own life was worth, he had to pack it all away.

There could be no more toys, stories of heroes, treasure hunters or monster slayers. Fictional thinking could only inhibit his strive for success, and with success, some forms of morale had to be tossed out the window.

Rhys’ grip tightened. He couldn’t be associated with people like _Vaughn,_ whose entire existence probably depended on these types of stories, to shield him from the fact that he would be a loser for the rest of his natural-born life.

If Rhys was going to make a name for himself, to leave this planet and place himself alongside those heroes in a reality far from the comfort-zone of fiction, then he had to know exactly where to start.

\---

“Rea-“

“Mom.”

“Rhys. _Rhys._ Sorry, sorry. I’m still getting used to it. …What? Don’t give me that look, young la-…lad.”

“Lad—Are you _seriously_ going with lad? I’ve never heard you use that word. Like, ever.”

“Well, it’s a stark difference to lady now, isn’t it?”

“Not really? I mean, considering it just has a y—“

“Honey, I meant their meanings, not their letters.”

“Oh, right.”

Rhys’ had to bite the retort out of his voice, but he winced upon noticing his mother narrow her eyes. Rhys had been officially out to Alyson for over two years, and with the effects the testosterone injections had made on his body, he had expected her to have been more used to it by now. It still stung whenever she resorted to using his old name, and he wanted to say he it wasn’t fair to be hung up on her mistakes like he was, for his mood, however, it was the least thing on his mind.

The morning had started off rather late, and Rhys was irritable, to say the least. He had little sleep the previous night, the incident from the day before and the impending move for the morning after refusing to let him relax enough to get a decent amount of shut-eye.

So here he was, staggering with boxes as he helped to load them into the back of the small moving van (a feat he was _so_ not interested in, with 15 minutes spent trying to convince his mother that that’s what the movers were paid to do without implying that such a task was beneath the likes of him, which frankly in his withered state it surely was, eventually having to resort to “But _moooooooooom”_ and receiving nothing but a grunt of disapproval and a hefty stack for his fruitless efforts).

Alyson seemed to be thriving, following the well-built moving men in and out of the living room, bending over inconspicuously and pretending to struggle with boxes just for a tap of momentary contact. Rhys almost wanted to gag, if it weren’t for the actual tinge of nausea that had begun to brew in the bottom of his stomach.

His mood was only worsening at her apparent dismissal of his obvious bad mood, but he couldn’t say that his mother was unconcerned for his wellbeing; after all, she was the one who had constantly provided, and who was providing for the fees for college and the movers even now. Alyson tended to misread his mood and tendencies, and it’s not like Rhys was helping if he wasn’t articulating his problems as well.

Coupled with his anxiety for the day ahead, he was feeling less than enthusiastic as he piled his suitcase into the back seat of the car, before moving to sit in the passenger seat, untrusting his sense of judgement to drive with his tired state of mind. Alyson caught up soon after, fumbling with keys in one hand and a pocket mirror in the other. He heard the definitive click as she shut it, only to shoot her a look as she leaned up to check her lipstick in the rearview mirror. She fired a tongue poke in his direction, before gearing the car and pulling slowly out of the driveway.

Rhys couldn’t pass a sentimental goodbye to his childhood neighbourhood, choosing to focus on the fabric of his pants instead. Alyson’s words of encouragement fell flat on his ears, and soon they drove along in silence, save for the small hum of a western-styled riff playing from the radio.

They drove along for some time, and Rhys’ leg began to tick, bouncing awkwardly against the suitcase. He began to drum his fingers against the car window, creating a rhythmic tap with the edges of his nails. The sound and sensation against the vibrating car eased his mind slightly, allowing him to concentrate on the winding streets they passed. Cobblestone houses eventually gave way to open road, framed by the sea on one side and a layout of trees on the other. Rhys craned his neck to look over his shoulder and at the town slowly disappearing behind him. He could have taken in its entirety, if his view wasn’t blocked by the moving van easing behind them, and he took that as a metaphor to not look back, sinking low in his chair with crossed arms and an ever-present scowl.

The car trip was relatively short in terms for the journey ahead, an hour in the car, a stop at the local station, a transfer onto a county bus and a three hour trek after that. Rhys already wasn’t fond of car trips, even down to the local store, so watching the large bus in wait, surrounded by a waiting crowd, only served to make his knees shake and the pit in his stomach open wider.

His mind reeled back at the prospect of getting out of the car, of facing what could potentially be his new classmates, and all of his pent-up enthusiasm from the day before seemed to drop out of existence. He saw a few heads turn, no doubt pondering who this upstart newcomer was to have his mother come around and open his door for him.

Alyson knelt down, placing a hand gently on Rhys’ knee, and an instant whir of anxiety pushed through him ( _oh god, what if they think I’m a mother’s boy_ ), and on impulse he brushed her hand aside. Alyson stood with a scowl, stomping around to pull his suitcase from the back and wheeling it around to the front of the car. With a heavy sigh, Rhys managed to pull himself to stand, keeping his eyes averted to the ground, and followed along after his mom in silence.

“ _Rhys,_ honey.” She came to a stop, turning slowly to look at him.

He wasn’t sure if the heavy tone in regards to his name was out of anger, or if she was reiterating heavier for her own sake. “Mom?”

Alyson gave a small sigh, before leaning up on her toes to give him a hug. He tilted over in surprise, hesitating before he wrapped his arms in return. She gave him a hard squeeze, pulling back and gently petting his shoulder.

“I’m going to guess you’re nervous for today.”

It wasn’t a question, but Rhys simply gave a nod in response, and Alyson pulled the lever up from his suitcase. She gave it a heave, pulling it around into his hands, before leaning up and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“It’s alright to be nervous. Today is a big day, you know? ...Just know that I’m going to miss you.”

Rhys’ heart twisted and he felt tears begin to prick behind his eyes. He swallowed, muttered a quiet “I know”, and nodded gently at her. She mustered a smile, waving him away with a, “Don’t make me into a fusspot, now. Just remember to call me when you get there, alright?”

She waved him away, flashing him with a big grin and a comical attempt at a supportive thumbs up, and Rhys returned it in par. The newfound sense of ease tilted over into an added sense of pressure as he reached the edge of the crowd, finding that because he towered over 90% of them, he couldn't flinch under their curious stares. He distracted himself by standing off to the side, pulling out his phone and scrolling mindlessly through old photos, as if it was due time to reminisce before leaving his town for good.

He found he couldn't focus whatsoever on whatever meaning they might have held, and he snapped to attention when a voice suddenly rang out, ordering the students to begin filing for the bus.

He took one last take behind him, and felt his stomach drop considerably at noticing Alyson was absent. He was haphazardly shoved forward, inciting a cry of surprise from the person before him, and he ducked his head in embarrassment as he climbed quickly into the bus.

Rhys wasted no time shoving his suitcase in the overhead locker, before scrambling to sit beside a window seat. He let out a ragged breath and clutched at his stomach tightly as the bus sprang to life, rocking precariously below him.

Try as he might, the inevitable meltdown had successfully penetrated his brain, and he pulled himself into a ball, his throat aching from holding back a strangled sob. His mind reeled with all sorts of anxious thoughts, from knowing the stares he had gotten his way, to having already ruined his reputation before even getting into college.

It was all because of that _guy,_ that _loser_ who and should have known his place, who shouldn't have become the onset of his irritability, who should have played along and quelled his compulsions, and as if to speak of the devil himself, there was no mistaking the distinct voice behind words of, “Hey, are you alright…?”

Because, _of course._

He didn't even have to look up to know, not that he would have time to anyway, because he was up and out in a flash, pushing past people in a furious attempt to get to the door.

Dirt and privacy would have been more suitable, but a wastepaper basket was as good as anything to hold for the effortless vomit sequence that soon followed.

**Author's Note:**

> HI HELLO EVERYONE it's been two months or so since I last wrote the first part of this fic, and I decided to turn it around into a series instead!! I put a lot of hard work into this revamp, because I wasn't entirely happy with the first part at all. I promise though, NO more revamps, and that I'm going to put a lot of dedication into this one. I'm so very happy with this and I'm really happy that you've read it as well!! Thank you so much!! <33


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